


Things My Senses Remember To Me

by helens78



Category: due South
Genre: 5 Things, Family, Gen, Memories, Mother-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-07
Updated: 2010-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-13 17:09:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five things Fraser remembers about his mother, through the lenses of scent, hearing, taste, touch, and sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things My Senses Remember To Me

1\. When someone asks Fraser "What was she like?" he never knows how to answer. Because there is no good way to say, "Like handmade soap, scented with a touch of dried rosemary," without making it sound as though he doesn't remember her at all.

But it isn't that. He remembers her smell, unique to her, and all these years later, when he's forgotten the scent of his father's shaving lotion and the way Victoria smelled when she came back to him in Chicago, he still remembers the tallow and rosemary and how he'd researched soapmaking for a while, made his own to see if it brought more memories of her to the surface. It didn't, but he had very good soap to use for a while, and that was something, at least.

* * *

2\. Fraser's grandparents loved classical music, and Fraser doesn't really have that much occasion to listen to music on his own, but one day he's riding in the car next to Ray and he rolls the dial past a country-music station and hears Dale Evans singing "Happy Trails".

His mother had a strong singing voice, but even better was her ability to make up lyrics on the spur of the moment; "Happy Trails" didn't originally come with lyrics about _bring the snowy weather_ , but it did by the time his mother was through with it.

He never sings things with the wrong lyrics because it isn't his forte, really, but sometimes he remembers the alternate versions of "Happy Trails" and "Your Cheatin' Heart" and "I Walk The Line" and has to stop himself from adding the verse about the snowshoes.

* * *

3\. It's an uncharitable thing to say, but Fraser's mother was a terrible cook. Of course, she didn't have much to work with, given the restrictions of living so far north and the availability of fresh foods, but even so, the one time she tried to make shortbread, Fraser lost a tooth. (It had already been loose, at least.)

The first time he makes pancakes for himself, they're crunchy and chewy and one bite contains a large ball of flour that somehow failed to be mixed properly. He adds more maple syrup and finishes every bite.

* * *

4\. Even as a child, Fraser didn't like being touched; it was difficult to have people come up to him and expect closeness, unearned affection.

His father was the same way by nature; his mother was physical and warm and liked to touch and cling and hug.

She didn't do it to Fraser. When she realized that he stiffened up every time someone else hugged him, she sat him down and said, softly, "You don't have to, if you don't want to. If you want to hug me, you can tell me when."

He asked for a hug three days before she died, and she gave it freely and smiled at him when he pulled away. It was a good hug. He's glad he gave it to her.

* * *

5\. When his mother takes his father away and walks him into the light, Fraser stares and stares until his eyes are nearly blinded. There have been pictures, of course, and childhood memories, but that moment, seeing her moving and walking and looking at his father with love--it stays with him, a brand-new memory of the long-departed.

He wishes he had a photograph of that, considers sketching it, but no: it's better as a memory, better as something he saw but didn't see. More real than reality, while it's here in his head and nowhere else.

 _-end-_


End file.
